#Fer Carpenter

[oraculoediciones]

Desde hace 30 años, Fernando Cenzabella ofrece un sonido único, personal, lejos de la industria. Su vida es una búsqueda permanente, ya sea en sus orígenes como parte del grupo "Sugar Tampaxxx", o impulsando proyectos propios como "Los Pacientes" o "Trópico de Cáncer". Porque el silencio también puede ser música.

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REALIZACIÓN Diego Arandojo

PRODUCCIÓN Lafarium

AGRADECIMIENTOS Fernando Cenzabella Carolina Forcinitti Darío Martínez

Copyright 2024 LAFARIUM www.lafarium.com.ar

[cherryblogss]

cherryyy mamãe como vc está? eu sei que os pedidos estão fechados mas quando vc tiver mais tranquilinha, e se quiser obviamente, faz um dos trintões com uma reader pop princess igual a Sabrina carpenter toda safadinha assanhada nos shows dando tchauzinho e mandando beijinho 💋💋💋pra eles enquanto cantam as músicas que ela fez pra ELES 💞only e dança toda empinadinha e sapeca 🔥 e os queridos babando nela na plateia e doidos pra meter o vapo 😓🤯😋😭

aiiii eu amei essa ask mds😭😭😭 sou obcecada pela estética da sabrina e adoro ver os videos do show dela🫂🫶🏻 amo a maior transuda do mundo

O Enzo vai no primeiro show todo animado, até mais que vc! Fica super carinhoso, sorrindo o tempo todo, mas a expressão vai caindo conforme o show vai rolando. Acredito muito que ele é um pouquinho ciumento demais, então vendo as suas provocações fica todo bicudo com os brações cruzados - AQUELES BICEPS OWNNN - mas ele percebe como vc só olha pra ele, até pisca e aponta na direção dele quando faz as insinuações toda silly serelepe👻👻👻 aí se acalma e dá aquele sorriso galanteador capaz de encharcar tua calcinha a quilometros de distância, MAS se vc quer ver esse homem petrificado é na parte de Juno (qm sabe, sabe) e quando vc faz a exata posição que ele te fez esguichar de tão forte que t fodeu na noite anterior, fica completamente corado e o pau latejando ainda mais quando vc faz uma carinha bem tesuda na direção que ele tá. Nem se importa e te come no camarim msm, aliás, nem te deixa tomar banho direito pq chega bem sonso dizendo que quer te ajudar a relaxar, mas depois tá te comendo e mandando fazer aquela posição amanhã😁😁😁😁

Fernando paga de sério e pocas risadas, mas passa show inteiro rindo das suas gracinhas, totalmente abobado e apaixonado por ti. Fica com os olhinhos brilhando ao te ver cantar músicas românticas e dançar toda feliz, mas quando você tá toda sapeca fazendo insinuações sexuais e sendo toda provocativa olhando SÓ para ele - e vms cair na real, o Fer sabe que é o unico ne - fica tímido e meio enciumado, apesar de ser um homem confiante, é meio possessivo e não gosta de ver como os outros estão te olhando, pois é o único momento que ele expressa abertamente ser um fofucho por dentro, algo que geralmente é reservado só pra ti. Ai cara eu sinto que ele seria muito aqueles namorados que seguiria a trope sunshinexgrump, ele com fama de ser bravudo, aí os fãs ficariam gravando a carinha apaixonada dele te assistindo. Obvio que quando chegam em casa ele te come até você ficar burrinha. Não te fode no camarim justamente por querer te deixar foguenta por ele tbm😈

Esteban é conhecido como um dos atores mais gentis e charmosos, então todo mundo ama ele e ainda mais se vcs dois fossem um casal☝🏻 Logo, ele é convidado por amigos para te ver de pertinho, aí se senta todo quietinho, feliz por te ver performar e sabia como vc era talentosa e gostosa. Só que nosso vô kuku não usa as redes sociais e não fazia ideia de como era o show, por isso, é cômico ver como ele fica hipnotizado por ti, tímido e corando quando percebe que seu flerte é diretamente com ele💋 fica todo afetado quando vc manda beijinho e sorri pra ele enquanto ta empinadinha. Aquela parte que tem a prisão antes de Juno e vc escolhe Estebinho aki😈 ele só falta desmaiar de tesão e nervosismo, gaguejando em todas as respostas. Irmãs, o que esse homem vai estar feroz, louco para te comer no fim não há palavras. Soube pelos amigos que vc que solicitou a presença dele e não ia desperdiçar a oportunidade de ter algo com vc. Apesar de ser um romântico, é selvagem quando tá com tesão e seu jeitinho toda provocativa, lindinha e safada só faz ele quer te comer até gritar o nome dele ou papi se quiser ne...

e claro que eu ia meter o Pipe, mas☝🏻 eu to escrevendo um hc dele baseado na música bodyguard da bey pq redescobri o cowboy carter e vc me deu uma inspiração muito boa😘

[useless-catalanfacts]

Hehehe.... Here's a post I think you people will like.

A while ago, I was asked about Catalan swear words. I answered it and I explained how very often we say "I shit on ..." and gave some examples. You can find that post here:

Yesterday, someone in Catalan Twitter tweeted asking what are your favourite swearings, and I think you might like to hear what people answered. So here it goes!

Així plogués tant, que els ànecs arribessin a mossegar els collons de Déu! = This way may it rain so much that ducks could reach to bite God's bollocks.

Així baixi una olla del cel, amb el cap de Déu per tapadora! = This way may a cooking pot fall from Heaven/sky with God's head as the lid!

Cagum tots los sants posats en un bocoi amb Déu per tap! = I shit on all the saints placed inside a hogdhead (large cask barrel) with God as the lid!

Cagum la veta del capdavall de la cama dreta de les calces del pagès que va plantar la primera fava que va menjar l'ase que va dur la Mare de Déu a Egipte! = I shit on the ribbon of the lowest part of the right leg of the trousers of the farmer who planted the first bean that was eaten by the donkey that took the Virgin Mary to Egypt!

Cagum Sant Hilari i tots els sants del calendari, i si em deixés algun per dir, me cagum la mare que el va parir. = I shit on Saint Hilarius and all the saints on the calendar; and if I had missed saying any of them, I shit on the mother that gave birth to them. (But in Catalan it rhymes).

Cagum Déu i el que portava la creu, i el que la va fer que era fuster = I shit on God and the guy who carried the cross, and the guy who made it who was a carpenter (in Catalan it rhymes) or Cagum Déu, la creu i el fuster que la feu = I shit on God, the cross, and the carpenter who made it (also rhymes).

Em cago en els quatre puntals que aguanten la cagadora de Déu = I shit on the four stakes that hold up God's shitting hole. (Maaaany people have said this one or variations of it)

Em cago en la puta que va arribar a parir el paleta que va fer les quatre pilastres que aguantaven la cagadora de Déu i tots els sants = I shit on the whore who reached the point of giving birth to the bricklayer who built the four pilars what held up the shitting hole of God and all the saints.

Cagum Sant Roc, el gos i la mare que els va parir tots dos = I shit on Saint Roch, the dog, and the mother who gave birth to both.

Me cago en la tita del dimoni porc = I shit on the pig demon's dick.

Cago'n la sang d'un banc i el fetge d'una cadira coixa = I shit on a bench's blood and a lame chair's liver.

Em cago en els claus dels peus de Cristu crucificat = I shit on the screws/nails on crucified Christ's feet.

Em cago en l'ou que va fer la gallina que va servir per fer el caldo de la Mare de Déu quan era partera = I shit on egg that was laid by the chicken that was used to make the broth for the Virgin Mary when she had just given birth.

Me cagum Satanàs clavat dalt d'un cirerer = I shit on Satan nailed to the top of a cherry tree.

Mal davallés el secretari de Déu, vestit de torero = Wouldn't God's secretary come down, dressed as a bullfighter.

What swearings do you say when something goes wrong? In my house, the most common one is a simple one: collons de mico (monkey bollocks).

[sarcasticdolphin]

Smrtolf fae au: September Prompt 25: "Picture Frames"

For the amazing @adridoesstuff as all the Smrtolf drabbles are.

Cut is just for length

“What about the gold one?” There might be a faint tinge of amusement in Aemilia’s voice, but Rudolf was concentrating too closely to care.

“Too ostentatious. Too-” Rudolf makes a few vague gestures with his hands. “Performative.”

The words don’t seem fully sufficient. Most of Rudolf’s paintings remain unframed, and framing them is always so difficult. Add to that the king’s marked dislike of plain black frames and it ceased to be a minor concern and became a full on conundrum.

“A wooden one, then. Perhaps with a little staining. Something understated.”

Rudolf looks at the frame and hates it immediately. The wood is the wrong texture - too birchy. The painting in question is of redwoods. It will clash horribly.

“Too-” He gestures vaguely in the direction of the door and the poor servant who is displaying the picture frame takes the queue for him and his rejected frame to exit stage left.

“Rudolf.” As much as Rudolf could deny the air of amusement in Aemilia’s voice before, now he most certainly couldn’t.

“Aemilia.” She’s smiling, too, and gently stroking Anna’s raven. The white bird was happily snoozing in her arms, feathers softly fluffed.

“I hate doing this.” There is no venom to Rudolf’s proclamation, and Aemilia gives a gentle laugh.

“Each time it takes more and more frames before you eventually acquiesce to one. Perhaps you ought to take up picture frame making and solve your problems that way.”

Rudolf rolls his eyes, but he’d considered it before. There were some problems that were best solved by taking matters into one’s own hands. Though thinking that was far easier than becoming a skilled enough carver or carpenter to make a picture frame that would be satisfactory.

“Perhaps I should take to painting murals for a bit. Those at least have the benefit of not needing frames.”

“Indeed. They are also incredibly time consuming. But I have no doubt the king would be happy to have you in his quarters painting the walls for half the day. I’d probably have to drag him to court or he’d skip it.”

Rudolf smiles at that. It’s just the sort of thing that Smrt would do, and Aemilia would certainly be the one to drag the king to his court. Or maybe she’d come to visit him with her horde of demon crows. That might frighten him into doing his duties.

“And why do I even need a picture frame in the first place? The canvas itself is enough.” Perhaps it is a more boastful statement than Rudolf would typically allow himself, but in this he knows his skill. And his work might benefit from framing sometimes, but it stands alone.

“For a wrapped canvas, certainly, But when you paint on anything else you will have issues.” Rudolf hears the unspoken part as well - to say he found the wrapping process tedious would be an understatement if ever there was one. It was worse than grinding pigment in Rudolf’s eyes, even if it wasn’t as time consuming. And then there was the annoyance of dealing with a larger wrapped canvas. That made things even worse.

The white raven almost seemed to yawn as it woke up, accepting a few scratches from Aemilia before hopping over to Rudolf and perching on his thigh. Rudolf offers Anna’s dear bird a fer scratches, but he can only shake his head sadly when the bird gives him a hopeful look. Anna was still being rather strict with treats. And it was working - her bird was looking a little less plump and more like a typical raven, though it was always hard to tell under all the feathers.

The raven gives a sound that Rudolf can only describe as forlorn and starts preening, but Rudolf finds himself feeling immensely guilty. Anna’s sweet raven could guilt trip like no other.

“Perhaps I should take up drawing.” Rudolf already had to do some sketching, though he personally much preferred paint.

“Drawings still need frames.”

“Sculpture, then.”

Aemilia only raises an eyebrow at Rudolf’s suggestion. He’d tried a few sculptured, but he hadn’t the patience for it. Pigments might cause him difficulties from time to time, but there was a vast difference in having to spend a few extra minutes mixing pigments and spending days and days carving away at a block of rock, hoping to bring forth something beautiful. 

Rudolf glances down at the white raven. “Maybe not sculpture.” He gives the raven a few more scratches before turning back to Aemilia.

“I miss when painting was simple and easy.”

“When someone else ground all the pigment, prepped the paint, and selected the subject?”

Rudolf exhales. Aemilia has a way of hitting issues square on the head while not actually saying anything directly about them, and as usual she was right. He prided himself on preparing his own pigments and paints, and on selecting his subjects. Hadn’t he complained mightily when his tutor had forced him to learn how to properly paint still life? He’d certainly made a bit of a theatrical fuss of grimacing at a few innocent fruit bowls.

“How was the court?” Rudolf asks the question in earnest curiosity, but also out of a faint sense of defiance. Aemilia was the rare type of fae that thoroughly disliked dithering on unnecessary topics.

“I have no doubt the king will give you a full and complete accounting of the affairs of the court today. We aren’t here to talk about the court, Rudolf, we’re here to find a picture frame. How about the white one?”

The white one is nice - simple and with an elegance, but Rudolf finds himself displeased with it. The edges are quite thin and it will make the painting and frame look all out of proportion.

“Too small. Too skinny.”

Aemilia tilts her head to the side just a hair and gestures for a servant to bring the next picture frame. “What about the blue one?”

“Too blue.”

“They gray one?”

“Too melancholy.”

“The black one?”

“Smrt doesn't like black frames.”

[handeaux]

During The Off-Season, The Old Cincinnati Reds Had Some Curious Side Hustles

It’s coming on World Series time, yet again without the presence of the Cincinnati Reds. As the die-hard fans turn their attention to the hot-stove league or the minutia of their fantasy teams, few give a thought to how today’s players spend the off-season.

In the early 1900s, every professional baseball team enjoyed a post-season romp. The happy few battled it out for World Series honors. But the also-rans kept playing on barnstorming tours, competing with amateur or semi-pro teams for a week or two after the final official game. Once this last hurrah was done, the players scattered to their side hustles.

Not that they needed the money. Rookies earned something like $1,800 in 1900 while stars pulled down $4,000 or more, and those figures translate to $64,000 to $140,000 in today’s dollars. Usually their off-season jobs were an investment in the future, when the pro years ended. Winter jobs were often far removed from the skills required on the diamond.

Reds second baseman Ed Phelps, for example, spent his winters earning a degree in business. Bob Ewing, who pitched for the Reds from 1902 to 1909, scurried home to Wapakoneta each fall to oversee his farm devoted to breeding champion harness-racing horses. Charlie Chech lasted only four years in the majors, pitching in 1905 and 1906 for the Reds, so it’s a good thing he was able to work winters as a pharmacist in St. Paul. Jack Ryder of the Cincinnati Enquirer reported [26 October 1905]:

“Chech is a graduate of the pharmacy department of the University of Wisconsin and is a practical druggist. He has bought an interest in one of the leading drugstores of St. Paul and will spend the winter mixing prescriptions and selling the festive tooth brush, the dry, deceptive sponge and the innocuous drugstore cigar.”

Orval Overall pitched for Cincinnati in 1905 and 1906 and wintered in California, where he helped manage his family’s hotel and fruit ranch. John Barry wandered through Cincinnati twice during a decade in the majors, and spent the off-season coaching football at Niagara University, his alma mater.

Pitcher Tom Walker (1904-05) clerked winters in a Philadelphia clothing store and had a reputation for up-selling hand-me-down suits. According to the Cincinnati Post [2 December 1904]:

“Tom is said to be a wonder, and able to hand out a line of talk about ‘all wool and fast dye’ in a most convincing fashion.”

Miller Huggins was a local boy, who grew up in Walnut Hills and earned a law degree from the University of Cincinnati. After 13 years as a second baseman, he went on to manage the St. Louis Cardinals and the New York Yankees during their glory years in the Twenties. Throughout much of his career, Huggins partnered with Cliff Martin to run a tobacconist’s shop. Per the Enquirer [9 November 1907]:

“Miller Huggins is handling the festive coffin nail, the flagrant ‘two-fer,’ and the lordly ten-center, at his popular smokehouse on Fountain Square.”

Outfielder Fred Odwell’s four years in “The Bigs” were spent in Cincinnati, but his financial future lay in the Empire State. According to the Enquirer:

“Fred Odwell owns a large quarry at his home in Downsville, N.Y., which he superintends during the winter, while his brother looks after the work during the summer. The business is a paying one, and Oddie is well provided for when his ball-playing days are over.”

Apparently, the grass was greener working for Uncle Sam, because Odwell, after a stint as a real estate broker, landed an appointment as postmaster for Downsville.

Hans Lobert logged five years as an infielder for the Reds while he built houses as a carpenter and contractor in Pittsburgh over the winter months. The Reds made something of a fuss about one of their 1907-08 pitchers, Andy Coakley, attending dental school on the East Coast, but it didn’t take. Coakley spent most of his post-playing career running a New York insurance agency while coaching baseball at Columbia University. In that collegiate gig, Coakley discovered a slugger named Lou Gehrig, so he had that going for him.

For a couple of years, the Reds had an actual doctor on the team, but he may not have been much use if a teammate was injured. Doctor Frank “Noodles” Hahn was a veterinarian, specializing in horses and cattle. While pitching for Cincinnati, Hahn enrolled in the Cincinnati Veterinary College. From 1900 until 1919, Cincinnati was home to its very own veterinary school, organized and operated by a consortium of local animal doctors. Noodles did so well in class that he was recruited after graduation to join the faculty of the college and taught there for several years.

A native of Nashville, Hahn confessed that he had no idea how he earned his distinctive nickname, although he had been called “Noodles” since he was a young boy. Hahn landed a pitching spot in the minors when he was just 16 years old and was recruited by the Reds in 1899 before he turned 20. Hahn’s rookie year was one for the record books as he won 23 games while losing only 8, posting a 2.68 ERA. Over seven seasons with the Reds, Hahn racked up 127 wins and 92 losses although he pitched for some decidedly lackluster Cincinnati squads. On 12 July 1900, Hahn hurled a no-hitter against the powerful Philadelphia Phillies and later struck out 16 Boston batters in one game. Problem was, the Reds never ranked higher than fourth in the National League during Hahn’s time in Cincinnati. After several seasons in which he averaged 300 innings, Hahn’s arm gave out. He limped through a half-season with the New York Highlanders, then decided to find another line of work.

It appears that old Noodles could have chosen a couple of careers. The Washington Post [17 June 1906] declared Hahn the best piano player in baseball. There was talk he might have pursued music professionally.

It was large animal veterinary work that finally won out. For a while, Hahn coached and pitched for some semi-pro teams, but he spent decades as a federal meat inspector in Cincinnati. Until he was over 70 years old, Hahn kept a locker at Crosley field. He would visit the ballpark on game day, work out with the team and pitch batting practice, then change back into his business clothes to watch the game. When the Terrace Plaza opened an ice-skating rink on the eighth floor, septuagenarian Noodles Hahn was there, showing off his fancy technique. He died, aged 80, at his retirement home in North Carolina.

[fearsmagazine]

THE FLOOD - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Saban Films

SYNOPSIS: A huge hurricane is hitting Louisiana, as the waters rise flooding areas it unleashes a relentless horde of giant hungry alligators. A group of in-transit prisoners and their security guards are redirected to seek shelter in a local police precinct with a prison. As the water infiltrates the police facility they all become prey for these giant flesh-eaters. To survive, the prisoners and guards must band together.

REVIEW: A derelict police facility, a hurricane, a group of vile prisoners, a band of ruthless mercenaries with an agenda regarding one of the prisoners, and finally this congregation of giant alligators and you’ve got the formula for a classic summer “B” movie. It feels like a Cajun take on the classic John Carpenter movie “Assault on Precinct 13,” with a few other elements scrambled into the mix.

The screenplay feels like the type of film American International Pictures and Roger Corman used to churn out back in their haydays. One can’t help but draw comparisons to 1976’s “Assault on Precinct 13” and the numerous films that have addressed the terrors of the order of Crocodylia, which includes alligators, crocodiles and gharial. Sheriff Jo Newman tries to hold everything together as the mercenaries show up and pindown the officers and prisoners in the cell block. They are unaware that the alligators have already breached the facility and taken out one obnoxious deputy and one not so skilled mercenary. Veteran film fans can probably predict the majority of the plot and how things turn out. Many of the prisoners are kind of cliched stereotypes, as is their dialogue. Still, it's not offensive and a fun piece of mindless entertainment even though there are some flaws in the film’s logic.

The sets are fine, the costumes okay, some of the cinematography is a bit blurred, especially the underwater effects and darker scenes. There were scenes where you could tell the rain was cgi and a few of the reference shots they used as transitions. The alligators are clearly cgi, although there might be a few images that are live gators, but I didn’t see a wrangler listed in the credits so I doubt it. I did appreciate the detail in the gator choreography when they attacked and held onto their victims. They clearly did the homework. Likewise, there were a few gunfire sequences where the gun bursts weren’t lined up properly and you could tell they were not discharging their weapons.

I think the cast did a solid job with the material they were given. I enjoyed Nicky Whelan’s performance. She elevated the character and could easily be a new Linda Hamilton or Sigourney Weaver if the right role presented itself as she handles the action rather well. Veteran actor Casper Van Dien plays Russell Cody, a sad sack of a cop killer with this hard luck story that the sheriff takes a shine to. It never becomes this full on romance but close and Van Dien does his best with an awkward role. The rest of the cast keeps the energy level up and allows the film to be watchable, but not memorable.

THE FLOOD is the perfect summer drive-in movie, unfortunately there aren’t many drive-ins and they mostly play classic revivals. The plot didn’t hold any surprises and I found it predictable. I was rooting for Sheriff Jo Newman, but I was also rooting for the gators. I was also cheering when they got the obnoxious deputy. There is no sex or nudity, and given the crimes of the prisoners I would have figured a bit more adult language. Even the gore seemed a tad underplayed by some of today’s expectations of genre films. Still, if you’re looking for something to help you take your mind off the summer heat THE FLOOD might offer you some relief.

CAST: Casper Van Dien, Nicky Whelan, Louis Mandylor, Kim Delonghi, Devanny Pinn, Ryan Francis, Eoin O’Brien, Randall J. Bacon, and Randy Wayne. CREW: Director - Brandon Slagle; Screenplay - Chad Law & Josh Ridgway; Producer - Daemon Hillin; Cinematographer - Niccolo De La Fere; Score - Randy Kalsi; Editors - Austin Nordell & James Kondelik; Costume Designer - Thanitta Pinkaew; Visual FX - CKVFX, Steve Clark, & Paul Knott. OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/QuYX69TLlKI RELEASE DATE: in Theaters, on Demand, & Digital July 14th, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[mysteriis-moon666]

CRYSTAL VIPER - The Silver Key

Depuis 2003 le groupe Polonais Crystal Viper emmené par la frontmwoman Marta Gabriel (Basse, guitares, piano, chant, paroles, composition), fonce au service du heavy metal, composé aujourd’hui de Lukasz Halczuch Guitares (lead, rythmique), écriture de chansons (pistes 2, 4), Éric Juris Guitares (lead, rythmique) et de Galwas de Kuba (Batterie, percussions).

« The Silver Key » via Listenable Records est leur 9ème album studio débutant avec une intro « Return To Providence » synthétisée dans la veine des B.O de John Carpenter, l’opus délivre un heavy/power metal d’inspiration NWOBHM, alternant les effets de tempo afin d’apporter une atmosphère différente sur chaque titre. Les solos en mode shredding de la paire Eric Juris/Andy Wave apportent et transportent avec une technicité et fluidité approfondissant les effets des lignes mélodiques en power metal et des accélérations de speed metal puissantes. Les soubassements en heavy lourd et offensif typés la vierge de fer demeurent la pierre philosophale et filiation du groupe. Le groupe vient parfois mettre des pincées de death et de black pour varier les plaisirs et augmenter sa ligne de front. Ça fonctionne vraiment bien tant l’équilibre trouvé performe. Cette belle dynamique emporte tout sur son passage. Le chant de Marta propage cette veine épique Heavy/power que ne renierait pas le dernier chasseur de Dragon Ronnie James Dio, et vers les contes d'HP Lovecraft. Ce chant personnalise le son des malédictions et les cris rauques qui sortent du delta des enfers. Cette voix a traversé les siècles et se propage en résonance éternelle comme le battement du cœur du désert.

Le disque nous fait regagner vers ces points de mémoires où nous revenons pour renaître à chaque fois par de puissantes marées. De sa peau nacrée des parfums jaillissent comme des épées. Chaque titre apporte son souffle et le rythme de son sang.

En traitant les possibilités comme des probabilités Crystal Viper a pris un virage avec la même flamboyance que les Canadiens d’Unleash The Archers, d’ailleurs le titre « The Silver Keys » en est le synonyme, et son solo céleste voilà ce qui peut faire de cette terre un jardin. Le groupe a une très bonne stature pour conter et donner vie et corps à toute sa musique.

« Wayfaring Dreamer » est une ballade au piano comme un bal des abysses, où la danse vous noie dans son alcôve orageuse avec la poursuite après vers d'autres titres plus heavy, et le final pour les covers de « Gods Of Thunder Of Wind And Of Rain » (Bathory) et « Scream ! » (Misfits et Glen Danzig).

[vintagepresley]

*Looking at Dr. Carpenter confused.*

"Ah don't need a hug, doc. Ah jus wanna make sure that Ah've been doin right. Ah'm sure yer probably sick a us causin problems fer ya. But if yer sayin Ah'm doin right, then tha's all Ah need."

-- Sheriff Kwimper

I love Toby so much lol

[devilmass]

murder wasn't exactly something that happened in port eloise. while it was true that he could say the tied piper from the parish over had been local, port eloise hadn't seen a homicide since the union days when lynching had been at an all time high. he doesn't think the sheriff in eloise has ever seen the inside of his mortuary, but something tells him manuel is familiar with it. ❝ y'all get much murd'ras 'round these parts ? ❞

with his question answered, something of a disgusted look crosses the preacher's face. his mouth pulls into a thin line. ❝ y'chased a mu'dra up onto this roof? this roof righ' here? ❞ now, rodrick wasn't a superstitious man but he was a coward at heart and the thought that any murderers at all have been inside the church made him swallow loudly.

❝ well, friend, consider this yer' penance fer' not comin' back'n fixin' it. the good news is that y'ain't gotta suffer. i got lemonade n'leftovers. i'll feed'ja, too. ❞ hell, if there was anyone at all he could trust with his life it'd probably be that man right there; something still chills him about the story though, and rodrick comes down the steps, into the sun.

❝ jesus was a carpenter first, manuel. the rest will come. ❞

“Sounds like a decent change of pace for me. Being the homicide department means it’s good when I don’t have anything to do but I’d rather not spend that free time alphabetizing the archives.” He laughed. “Double as the town’s handyman anyways—well… if you believe half the ladies that live in my building anyways.”

Definitely not an intentional brag on his part, but Manny did like to believe after this long he sort of knew his way around the power tools.

“Funny story that… might’ve unintentionally been my fault.” A sheepish admission, surprising, but it was in his personal experience that embarrassing stories did tend to make one look pretty normal so… “Guy was wanted for three murders and an attempted strangling. Sent me on a wild goose chase until we had him cornered on the roof and well… suppose that’s how we found out the weight limit of wood that hasn’t been treated since 1945.”

He could’ve sworn he was still plucking splinters out to this day. And other wood bits. And maybe he had given up on getting a fix since the place hadn’t seen a congregation in quite some time. “Not much of a religious guy anymore, but town’s dragged long enough and it’s kinda my fault anyways so… up for more than just pews.”

[lavalave]

Told ya i will do it in digital too! Its a new style for me to try so i need your opinion about this one. I'm gonna do it on my normal style probably tomorrow :)

[icondeluxe]

Sabrina Carpenter Icons

like if you save

(c) @fdpanem

[savethepack]

sabrina carpenter. •like if you save/use •icons by: @rowbrinanopsd headers by: @collagealaska @twicarpenter

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter.  He has an appointment to keep, after all.   Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”.  For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere.  Kinetic motion trapped in amber.   Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.  

And now it was Thursday.  She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth.  It was likely wasted vanity.  As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring.  Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment.  Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily.  It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner.  She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously.  “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today.  His clothing, certainly.  Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again.  And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow.  A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course.  Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair.�� “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year.  An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried.  “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling.  Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons.  Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients.  While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired.  Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased.  “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation.  “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these.  I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you.  I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much.  He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk.  Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs.  Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred.  In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse.  Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing.  I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange.  Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be.  She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected.  “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening.  Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people.  She made a living reading their unspoken cues.  Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye.  Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland.  She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.  

International financier.  Self-made entrepreneur.  Tall drink of water.  James Fraser had a lot of things going for him.  And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes.  His father’s recent death.  The reason behind a radical change in career.  Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry.  There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling.  But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own.  Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances.  His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end.  His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown.  She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last.  “Tae be honest, it haunted me.  Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me.  An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out.  I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words.  Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut.  Just another charming rake, after all.  It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did.  More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm.  What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room.   Instead, he spun around to face the door.  Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent.  Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma.  The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated.  “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch.  A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in.  She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk.  Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here.  Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded.  There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized.  “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously.  Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend.  She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister.  Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment.  She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door.  There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye.  I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Top 10 October.

1. Faust (F.W. Murnau, 1926) 2. La rose de fer (Jean Rollin, 1973) 3. L'aldilà (Lucio Fulci, 1981) 4. The Thing (John Carpenter, 1982) 5. Cuadecuc, Vampir (Pere Portabella, 1971) 6. Dersu Uzala (Akira Kurosawa, 1975) 7. The Masque of the Red Death (Roger Corman, 1964) 8. Paroxismus (a.k.a. Venus in furs) (Jess Franco, 1969) 9. Special Effects (Larry Cohen, 1984) 10. House on Haunted Hill (William Castle, 1959)

(My list on Letterboxd -click here-)

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #8: Adroit

(More Franks and Tataru shenanigans. I think I officially have to call them siblings after this one and my day 1 prompt!)

Adroit – clever or skillful in using the hands or mind.

“Greetings, miss! Welcome to the Carpenter’s guild! How can I help you?”

Tataru smiled at the man behind the desk. “Hello, ser! My name is Tataru Taru, I’m here to speak with Timbermaster Beatin about a commission!”

“Ah, yes. I was told to expect you! Go on in, the guildmaster is at the back of the room, just up the stairs in the corner!”

She thanked the man and entered the hails of the guild. The sounds of hammer and saw beating wood into shapes filled the room. The smells of lumber and sawdust pervaded the air.

She climbed the stairs and approached the gray-haired elezen she knew to be the Timbermaster. He was intently examining a set of documents, but turned at her approach.

“Ah, lady Tataru! Good to see you again. The Elder Seedseer did let me know to expect you. I gather this is not about you finally deciding to become one of our number?”

Tataru giggled. “Sorry, Timbermaster, not today. No, I’m here on behalf of the Scions. Several of our number were….away for an extended time and only recently returned. However, because of the nature of their mission, they had to leave everything behind, including their weapons.”

She reached into her traveling pack, withdrew a rolled parchment wrapped in green-colored string, and handed it to him.

“I mean to make a gift to them of a faithful recreation of said weapons, and need a truly masterful carpenter to recreate the shaft and head of this staff. The original was called Nightseeker.”

Beatin unrolled the parchment and set it on his table, looking over the plans with interest. “Hrrmm…..yes, quite intricate. This wood, I’ve not seen its like anywhere in Eorzea. Half of the challenge shall be in sourcing something suitable! I presume you’ll be asking Serendipity to assemble the pieces and provide this gemstone, here?”

Tataru nodded. “Indeed. So what do you think, sir? Can you do it?”

He stood, glancing over the array of other documents on his desk, then shook his head. “Unfortunately, Lady Tataru, not in any degree of soonness. Mistake me not, under other circumstances I would relish this challenge, but unfortunately, the guild is swamped with commissions and too few skilled carpenters to pull them off. Most of my days are spent instructing and sifting through aspirants. I would not be able to give this project the time it deserves.”

Tataru looked downcast. “Ah, I see, I should have expected as much.”

“Do not despair, my lady, for though I am unable to undertake this challenge, there is another option! I would entrust a commission of this level only to one other, my greatest student, and perhaps my only equal in the ways of woodwork. I can get in touch with him, I’ve no doubt he will be able to complete it to your satisfaction”

Tataru brightened. “Excellent? What might his name be? And do you know where I can find him?”

“I do not know where he might be, but I can reach him via linkpearl! Name the place and time, I shall ensure he is present. As to his name, well, he goes by ‘Old Man’ if you can believe it, though his surname is ‘Franks’

Tataru had pulled out the small ledger she used to keep her appointments and was checking through it when she stopped. She looked up to the Timbermaster. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘Old Man Franks’?”

“Indeed, milady. It’s a strange moniker, yes, but you get used to it.”

“Hyur man, about 6 and a half fulms tall, white beard and well-coiffed hair?”

“Yes, indeed, milady! Are you perhaps already acquainted with him?

“I…yes, but I had no idea he was so skilled in Carpentry that you considered him your equal! I honestly had no idea he had any skill in carpentry at all. I know him as-” She stopped suddenly, then looked back to her book. “It…it doesn’t matter. Um, can you ask him to come to our headquarters in the Rising Stones say…this afternoon?”

Beatin looked perplexed for a moment, then began searching for a stylus. “Certainly, milady! That is in Mor Dhona, correct?” He jotted down a few lines, on the table itself she noted, and then picked up the plans she’d given him. He rerolled them and tied the string before handing them back to her.

“Yes, it is. Um, thank you again, Timbermaster. I….I look forward to speaking with your student.”

“Take care, milady!” he replied, returning to the pile of requests on his desk.

Tataru walked away in a bit of shock, before clearing it away with a shake of her head and left the Carpenter’s Guild, making her way to Gridania’s airship landing.

A few bells later, the airship taxi landed in Limsa Lominsa. She took a small bit of time to enjoy the smell of the sea air (and of course the myriad delicious scents coming from the direction of the Bismarck) before making her way to the area of the city reserved for the Blacksmiths and Armorer’s guilds. She entered in the rear door, where she knew guildmaster Brithael had his personal work area, raised above the guild’s halls so that he might inspect any of their work quickly.

The master blacksmith was in fact at his own desk, dealing with some paperwork. When he aw her enter, he immediately stood and regarded her with a warm smile. “Ah, now, ‘ere’s a sight fer sore eyes! Tataru Taru, o’ the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, ‘ere in me halls! Tha Admiral did drop a note sayin’ to expect ye and to makes sure I take yer commission. So what can an old smitty do ya fer?”

Tataru smiled. “Good day, master Brithael! Thank you for your no doubt greatly demanded time. I’m hoping you can create a weapon for me, one that one of our order’s number recently took up, but had to leave behind on a recent…expedition. What he did…it was extremely important to our mission of safeguarding this star, and I want to make a gift of a faithful recreation.” She pulled out a rolled up parchment, this one tied in a red string, and handed it to Brithael.

The blacksmith unrolled it. “Well well, a gunblade? Your man a Garlean or somethin? No, wait…” He pulled it closer, his eyes squinting as he pored over a certain section of the plans. “Aaaah, I see what we got ‘ere. Heard bout these. Bozjan make. Th’ Garlean versions are knock-offs of this design. Mass produced in their factories. This, tho, this looks like it took some real heart to hammer.”

He rolled up the parchment. “Sadly, lass. I can’t help ya.”

“What? Whyever not?”

“Hang on, lass, lemme finish. I ain’t had no experience makin’ no gunblades. I could hammer out the pieces, sure, but I ain’t no engineer. Got no real idea how to assemble summat like this properly. We do the occasional flintlocke in here, but even I can see that there’s way more t’ it than anything like that.”

“However, I do know a man that can probably help ye out”

“You know of an engineer that can assemble this If you presented him the pieces?” Tataru asked.

Brithael smiled. “More ‘n that, he can certainly hammer ’em out as well as me! Man’s the best smitty I ever trained, hell I ain’t afraid to say it, he’s probably better ‘n me if’n I’m honest! Moreover, I know he’s more’n acquainted with them Machinists over in Ishgard. They tend to produce their own guns, but he’s shared the plans with us in case they need more’n they can produce. Hells, I think he mighta helped found the bloody organization? Anyroad, his name’s ‘Old Man’ Franks. Course, that ain’t his real name, he just-“

“-goes by it, yes. I’ve met the man, actually” Tataru interrupted, a little quietly. Her eyes were wide.

“Oh, ‘at’s right, you spent some time in Ishgard, didn’t ye? Issat where ya met ’em?”

“S…something like that, yes” Tataru replies, her face a bit dazed with this realization.

“Well, I can get a message to ‘im. Don’t think he’s in Limsa at the moment. Want me to have him meet ya somewhere?”

“Er….yes. Um, the Rising Stones, this afternoon, please. He knows the way there. Thank you, guildmaster.”

“Not a problem at all, milady!”

Tataru turned and slowly walked out, still trying to process what she had just heard. A master Carpenter AND Blacksmith? She knew Franks liked to build things, and she’d seen him helping in the Ishgard restoration before, but how in the hells had he gotten to be a carpenter and a blacksmith good enough that the actual guildmasters considered him their equal? Or when?

She supposed she’d get the chance to ask him that this afternoon. She had a final stop to make

A few hours later, and another airship charter reached Ul’dah. Tataru loved the way Ul’dah smelled, the air full of spices and scents from all over. She wasn’t a tremendous fan of the heat however, so she made her way to the goldsmith’s guild as quick as her legs would take her. Once she arrived, she started to move towards the receptionist’s desk, but a voice called from the workshop “TATARU”

“Hi Sera!” she calls back. Both race to meet each other, colliding into a hug at the top of the stairs that led to the workshop floor.

Serendipity finally pulled back and beamed at her. “Oh it’s been so long, Tataru! When the Sultana of all people showed up and mentioned you would be dropping in, needing a big favor, I was so excited to get to see you again!”

“Me too, Sera! We are absolutely getting something to drink to catch up, but first, you wanna see what the favor is?”

Serendipity clapped her hands, excitement all over her face. “Yes! Do you need some jewelry? Ooooh, a big date perhaps? Did Wedge finally-“

“SHHHHH shshhshsh! No, I actually have a couple of magical arms i need created!” Tataru replied, blushing furiously. “One of them is an Astrologer’s Star Globe, the other is a staff. I’ve got a carpenter to shape the actual wood, I just need the gemstone made for it and set inside.”

She quickly dug into her pack, handing her two rolled parchments. One was tied in green string, the other in blue.

Serendipity’s expression changed, professional interest replacing teasing grin. She took the parchments, unrolling the green-wrapped one first “Oooh, this is pretty! Very intricate work on the staff, I hope your Carpenter is good, that’s going to be some precise work. Good size gem on it, too. Looks like an azurite maybe? Or perhaps a star spinel? We’ll have to chat a bit more about what this staff’s used for to determine what’ll be best to use here. What about this other thing…”

She then unrolled the second parchment. “Oh, a Star Globe, very nice. We’ve been getting a lot of commissions for these out of Ishgard, seems like their guild is growing very nicely. This one’s really ornate though, I like it. Okay, I think we can make these happen for sure, lemme just check my….oh. Oh, dear. This can’t be right? Oh, it is. Oh, that’s not good.”

Tataru looked worried. “What? What’s wrong, Sera??”

Serendipity turned back to her with an apologetic grimace on her face. “I’m so, so sorry Tataru. I forgot how backed up I am on commissions. I really want to help, I do, but I’ve already missed some deadlines as it is!”

Tataru looked downcast. “Oh…I don’t suppose there’s anyone you can foist those on to help me get these made, can you?”

Serendipity shook her head. “No, I can’t do that, everyone else here is either just as busy or isn’t yet skilled enough that I trust them with commissions usually reserved for me. Although…there MIGHT be someone who could make your items in my stead? He’s actually really good, remember those music boxes I told you about that played different arrangements of the same song but harmonized beautifully together? It’s the man who made those! He’s really fantastic, I just don’t want to commit on his behalf! I can get him a message, though, want me to have him meet you later?”

“Um, well, yes, that would be nice. This afternoon at the Rising Stones would work well, if he’s available. Aaaand I’m almost afraid to ask, but…his name wouldn’t be Franks, would it?

A look of surprise came across Serendipity’s visage. “Why, yes, actually it is. ‘Old Man’ Franks. Do you know him? Do you know why he wants to be called that? He’s not even really all that old!”

Tataru just blinked, staring off into space. Then she rubbed her temples, as if trying to massage a headache. “Of course it’s him….it was him the first two times, why wouldn’t it be now? Heh heh heh”

“Uh, Tataru? You okay?”

She looked back up to Serendipity with an apologetic smile. “Oh, sorry, Sera! I’m fine, just a long morning. Lot of airship travel and all. Yes, please, send ‘Master Franks’ a message to meet me. Do you still have time for a drink this evening, with your backlog?”

“I’m hoping to be able to get caught up today, yes! Looking forward to it!”

“Great! I’m gonna head back to the Stones and finalize everything, but I’ll meet you tonight at the Quicksand?”

“See you then!”

Tataru practically ran for the door.

It was early into the afternoon when Tataru opened the door to the Rising Stones. Most of the Scions were out in the field, save one person who sat at one of the tables, idly reading. She walked right up to him and glared.

Without looking up from his book, Franks spoke. “Oh, hey Tataru. How did your meetings with the guildmasters go?”

Seven hells, was he SMIRKING?

She stamped her foot. “Oh, don’t even! You know EXACTLY how they went! Why didn’t you TELL ME you were some kind of avatar of Byregot that knows how to craft practically everything??”

Franks threw back his head, laughing. “Well, to be honest, I kinda have a bit of a cheat going, thanks to the Echo, you know?” He stopped laughing and turned to Tataru. “And I remembered how much you struggled with wanting to find a way to be more useful to the Scions. I also remember that you were justifiably very proud of yourself for all the crafting skills you’ve learned, and I didn’t want to make it seem like I just usurped everything you accomplished nor step on your toes or anything like that.”

“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t have thought that! You should know me better! I know this isn’t some competition! We’re all in this together, and you’ve been hiding skills I could have allocated for us to use!” She pointed a judgemental finger at him “So now I’m gonna! Your first punishment is you get to make everyone’s weapons while I sew their outfits!”

“Your wish is my command, ma’am! Let me know if you want some extra hands with the fabric, I can weave too!”

Tataru just glared at him.

[techmomma]

Common town jobs in a Western setting

mayor

secretaries

judge

lawman (good?)

lawman (corrupt?)

jailer

blacksmith/farrier/leatherworkers/tanners

carpenter/general handyman

dentist/barber

doctor/barber

barkeep/saloonkeeper

ostler/hostler (person who looks after your horse while you stay at the inn and often de facto veterinarian)

postal worker/telegram operator

general store owner/grocer

tailor/seamstress

various shop owners

farmers/ranchers/millers/brewers/ditch riders/wranglers

hunters/traders

laborers/miners/roustabouts

brothelkeeper/brotherworkers

banker/teller

butcher

baker

candlestick maker?

shoemaker

gunsmith (may be the same person as the farrier/blacksmith if a town is small enough)

train engineers, railroad operators, stage coach drivers

launderer

priest/pastor/clergyman

midwives

travelling salesmen/peddlers

cooks

pharmacist/apothecary

entertainers/dancers/singers/musicians

journalists/photographers/painters

prospectors

undertaker/grave diggers

firefighters? fire chief? (is town big enough?)

school teacher

croupier (person who manages gambling tables)

hatmaker

hairdresser

loggers/lumberjacks

lawyer

bookkeepers/clerks

printers/book-binders/paperworkers

seasonal workers

soda jerk (usually in pharmacist or bakery)

jeweler/watchmakers

freighters (cargo-deliverers)

iceworkers/deliverers/water deliverers

surveyors/assayers/civil engineers

masons

librarian

Unofficial “jobs”

town drunk

hooligans

vagrants

street kids

lesbians spinsters

gunslingers

newcomers

old hands and residents

gossipmongers

new folks coming to prove their grit and not yet disillusioned

stern prairie women who don’t take guff and are trying to raise a family and/or trying to survive

Travelers With No Name

bandits and bankrobbers

town weirdos (isn’t that this whole town?)

pinkertons/undercover police/union breakers (technically also an official Job but not one you want to advertise, usually; these people are not well-liked for good reason in this time period; lots of blood on their hands)

bounty hunters

underpaid and overworked employees

overpaid and underworked managers

folks looking for a quick buck in a lawless west

folks looking for an honest living in a strange world

entrepreneurs (successful and failing)

inventors

folks with secret pasts

snake oil salesmen

Folks Who Don’t Take Kindly To Strangers Round These Parts

brothel workers who love their job

brother workers who hate their job

city folk what moved out to the country and don’t know what they’re in fer

town bullies and cronies (may be working for corrupt lawmen/robberbarons/mayors/gangs/independent)

and many more!

And remember that in small towns in the West, many people worked more than one job, or had jobs that weren’t exactly concrete. Jobs were often fluid: if you have experience shaping stone, you could be the town mason, or you could be the gravestone carver--who’ll also carve and shape stonework around town and give you a professional consultation if you’re doing your own or the stonework for a building is bad and they need to figure out why. A launderer who knows their way with fabric could also be the town tailor, as well as town textile seller, able to create dresses with the very fabrics they’re promoting. If the farrier knows enough about blacksmithing, their job might solely be making horseshoes, but they may sometimes get special orders for things that aren’t horseshoes, or may be asked to help with the gunsmith--or may BE the gunsmith, as well as farrier. 

Small western towns worked similarly to families, in the sense that whether or not it was your official title, if you could do a job, you did it. If you’re the town layer but you know horses inside and out, then you’re who people are gonna call if their horse gets sick.